


I Can Make You Good Again, I Promise

by maeinfin



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: ABDL, Age Play, Blow Jobs, Bottlefeeding, Desperation, Diapers, Dry Humping, F/M, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mommy Kink, Oral Sex, Pacifiers, Power Play, Praise Kink, Self-Denial, Sickfic, Urination, Wetting, potty training, thirst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27180197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maeinfin/pseuds/maeinfin
Summary: It started with the Master taking over a Level 5 planet and it would’ve been his within the week, if only he hadn't fallen ill on his first day on his new throne.By the time the Doctor shows up to derail his coup, the Master is feeling more than a little worn-out. (Un)luckily for him, she has more than medical assistance on her mind.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posting as Anonymous because no-one signed up for this. But I'm fairly sure you can guess who I am anyway (and I'll be greatly amused if you do)
> 
> Update: un-anoning because I woke up and didn’t care anymore. ☺️

It started with the Master trying to take over a Level 5 planet. Normally, ruling over such a lowly place would have been unappealing, but he’d wanted to flex his chaos muscles with something small, and a civilisation that was barely out of its primitive state seemed ideal.

After all, burning planets was easy - and this regeneration had proven that with Gallifrey - but conquering them required a little more finesse and while the Master would never admit to feeling rusty... it was fair to say it had been a while.

And the planet would’ve been his within a week, if everything had gone to plan. The first twenty four hours had been spectacular. He’d taken advantage of local political tensions and had been able to gather a rebel army by mid-afternoon. Dinner saw the King poisoned at his own banquet and by breakfast the next day, the Master had found the perfect cushion for his new throne.

The rest should’ve been easy and the Master still maintained it would’ve been, if the place hadn’t been so wretched to begin with. It was entirely the stinking, germ-infested planet’s fault that some lingering, primitive virus had taken hold of him and by the time the Doctor had shown up with the murdered King’s daughter raging to save her people, the Master was feeling more than a little worn-out.

“You’re looking peaky,” the Doctor said, “Again.”

“I didn’t ask for your commentary,” the Master snarled. The effect was rather dampened by the enormous blanket he was huddling under and the sheen of sweat plastering his hair to his brow.

“You didn’t ask for me at all,” she replied, placing her cool hand on his forehead, “And yet, here I am.”

“Then seeing as you were not invited, kindly remove yourself from my planet before I have my guards throw you into the dungeons,” he snapped, “I can assure you that they’re more Valiant-cage than Vault-lux.”

The Master attempted a sneer but the Doctor only tutted as she stuck her sonic screwdriver into his ear.

“Just as I thought,” she scolded, “You haven’t been looking after yourself. Why didn’t you get an Immune Booster Shot before coming planet-side?”

“I was busy strategising,” His voice had taken on a slight whine that he didn’t like but before he could summon his guards, the Doctor had snapped a vortex manipulator onto his wrist and with a sudden, sickening whoosh, they were on her TARDIS.

*************************

And it had gone downhill from there. Or uphill, depending on your point of view. The Master spent the following days sweating feverishly through each set of silk pyjamas that the Doctor’s TARDIS had been willing to wash for him. It was a sign of how ill he’d been that it was only after his fever had broken that the blasted machine decided to close off the Doctor’s access to the laundry room, beeping cheerfully about paradox machines as the locks turned shut.

Which was why the Master was allowing the Doctor to wrestle him into a set of purple cotton pyjamas, decorated with tiny Mary Poppins.

“Look at little Missy,” the Doctor had said, beaming from the foot of his bed, “And little Missy, and little Missy, and little Missy.” She pointed at each umbrella-wielding figure with delight.

“You’re an idiot,” the Master mumbled, but his words lacked his usual venom. The Doctor had spent the last two weeks tending to his every physical need and although his fever had finally, _finally_ broken, he wasn’t going to discourage her before he was back to full health.

“For someone who loves Earth so much, your cultural knowledge is really lacking,” he mocked half-heartedly, as the Doctor pulled the pyjama top over his head.

She’d already changed his sheets, emptied his chamber pot and read aloud from “Tarsus IV’s Bloodiest Massacres” while he’d nibbled on plain toast, so it was only polite to let her dress him too. Even if he _was_ feeling better today.

“Oi,” she said mildly, eyes fixed on a ‘little Missy’ on his chest, “I watched Frozen with you. And Lord of the Rings.”

The Master smirked, “Only after I turned you into Gandalf.”

The Doctor only rolled her eyes, unaffected by the jibe, “What else have I missed?”

*************************

Which was how they’d ended up in the TARDIS cinema. Ten hours later, they’d watched both Mary Poppins films, caught up with Frozen 2 and the Doctor finally understood why the Master had said O’s flying shack was a bit ‘Wicked Witch of the West’.

All in all, it’d been a very nice first day out of bed, and they were still only halfway through series three of the Teletubbies, which was why the Master was so reluctant to move from his spot stretched out on the sofa besides the Doctor.

The problem was, he needed to piss. He’d been holding it back for the past few hours but now, the need to relieve himself was growing irritatingly strong.

The Master grimaced, rolling onto his side. Only yesterday, he’d been too bleary-eyed and nauseated to walk to the bathroom. He’d simply rolled sideways and aimed carelessly at the pot the Doctor had left by his bed. The carelessness was probably why the TARDIS had moved the bathroom six floors away from the cinema.

“Your ship is a bitch,” he grumbled, “Tell her to move the bathroom back downstairs.”

“Can’t do that,” the Doctor chirped, “You know what she’s like. And don’t call her names.”

The Master growled. The ache in his bladder was intensifying and even though his limbs still felt like he’d been running the Intergalactic Quadrupedal Marathon, he had no choice but to head to the TARDIS staircase and start climbing... But as he swung his legs off the sofa, the Doctor tugged at his pyjama sleeve.

“I can help,” she said, looking strangely nervous.

“I don’t think you can carry me up six flights of stairs, love,” he said, stretching upwards with a sigh. His muscles ached and it was going to be at least another week before he could get back to planet-burning, let alone planet-conquering.

The Doctor didn’t reply. Instead, she dived down, scrambling beneath the sofa and when she re-emerged, the Master could only gape.

She was holding an adult-sized potty.

“Why not just fetch the chamber pot... or an empty bottle?” he said. It was a strangely logical question, all things considered and he was quite proud of it.

“You can sit down on this one. It’s more comfortable. I’ll show you,” she said, with obvious false bravado and suddenly, his pyjama bottoms were round his ankles and the Doctor was pushing down on his shoulders. His bare bottom landed on the plastic with a thunk.

“Doctor, wha-,” he began, but she cut him off.

“It’s been nice, hasn’t it? Staying here with me?” She knelt down in front of him, a hand on each of his knees.

“I’ve been sick,” he said lamely, “I’ve been sleeping.”

“Still nice though,” the Doctor's eyes were fixed on his, “Like being in the Vault with me.”

The Master frowned. She evidently had some plan in mind and if she was bringing up the Vault, it probably had to do with his time as Missy. It’d be easier to figure it out once he’d sorted out his aching bladder. He went to stand but -

“You wanted to be good, didn’t you?” She was pressing down on his thighs, a dead weight that his recovering body still felt too weak to swat away, “When you were Missy, you managed it.”

He sagged back down into the potty - she was right, it _was_ comfortable - and waited for the Doctor to finish whatever nonsense she needed to say. She obviously wasn’t going to let him up until she finished.

“You wanted to be good and it worked,” she was babbling now, “And then everything happened and you changed back.”

“I didn’t change. _You_ did,” he snarled, his body suddenly rigid with tension. His hands curled into tight fists, enraged by any mention of her _special_ history while his lower half squeezed painfully against the urge to pee. He needed to leave _now_ if only so as not to lose his temper and piss over _her_.

“Never mind the... DNA,” she grimaced, “I’m saying that the Vault worked. You became good, but we didn’t go far enough. We didn’t go far _back_ enough.”

And it hit him like an umbrella on the back of his head. She wanted to regress him to teach him how to be good.

“You can’t be serious,” he choked, wide-eyed.

“I very much am,” she replied earnestly. Her words reminded him sharply of himself and he was seriously wondering if he’d woken up in a mirror universe, when the Doctor’s hands shifted from his knees to his pyjama top. She stroked his belly through the cotton softly and pushed ever so slightly on his bladder-

And finally, the Master caught up. They _were_ little Missy pyjamas. She’d made them specially to remind him of his past self. And the Doctor hadn’t been looking after his every need because she’d fancied living up to her title for once. And he was even willing to bet the TARDIS wasn’t the one playing hide-and-seek with the toilets.

He was about to ask if she’d somehow engineered him falling ill in the first place when his bladder twinged sharply. He hissed in sudden, spiking agony.

“It’s okay,” Her hands were back on his knees and she was smiling encouragingly, “Relax. You can do it. Pssssssst.”

He was about to scoff when the oddest thought struck him; he could simply play along. At least until he was back to full health and in any case, it might even end up being _useful_. Plus, hadn’t this been what he’d wanted? The Doctor on her knees before him, catering to his every whim?

“Go on,” she was cooing now, “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

In any other scenario, he’d have choked her for being so patronising but before he could reach for her neck, the dam burst.

“Yes,” he hissed, slumping forward in defeat as wave after wave of relief swept through him.

The feeling of his bladder finally emptying was instantly overwhelming. He’d been holding on for far, _far_ too long and he couldn’t have stopped the steady stream of piss if he’d wanted to. Which he didn’t. He hadn’t been aware of how much tension he’d been holding in his body and now, the sheer relief of letting go was making his toes curl. He moaned gutturally, his mouth slack with pleasure as a seemingly endless stream flowed out from him.

“You’re such a good boy,” the Doctor was rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“Yea, good,” he grunted, panting into her chest. He couldn’t find it within himself to care about her stupid plans to better him _again_ when such blissful sensations were flooding through him.

After that, the only sounds were the Doctor cooing praise into his hair, his own low contented moans and the steady sound of his piss emptying into the pot under him.

Finally, as the stream faded into a trickle, the Master sighed as the last wave of pleasure rolled through his body.

“That was good,” he mumbled.

“ _You_ were good,” she said and suddenly she’d burst into a rapturous, cheering applause, “Yay! Well done!”

The Master blinked at her, dumbfounded and a little dazed. Clapping was _his_ thing, and best reserved for truly spectacular moments, like his masterful reveals or when he’d arranged for the Doctor to die in a blazing inferno. Not pissing in a potty.

And then, to his horror, the Doctor was reaching down between his legs, wet wipe in hand. He watched numbly as she dabbed at the tip of his cock, cleaning away the last drops of urine before passing a fresh wipe over him.

“You’re a good boy,” She was smiling and nodding earnestly, “Aren’t you?”

He was halfway through rolling her eyes at her when her grip around his cock shifted and suddenly, her hands were coaxing him to full hardness.

“Yea, I’m a good boy,” He grinned, his interest piqued now that they were back on familiar, ancient ground, “What you gonna do about it?”

“Good boys get rewards,” She nudged him up so that he was standing, gently kicking the potty away with her foot.

“What kind of reward?” He leered, reaching for her hip but the Doctor was too quick. She shoved hard at his chest and suddenly he was falling backwards on the sofa, blinking down at the Doctor who tugging his boxers and pyjama bottoms off him.

He stilled. He did so like her kneeling and she was in the perfect position to -

“You want to be good, don’t you?” She nuzzled into his groin, “You want to be good for Mummy.”

His cock jerked against her cheek.

“I-,” His eyes were wide, “Doctor...”

He trailed off weakly. Her mouth was clamped around the tip of his erection, but she was completely still, staring at him with disapproval. He could feel the heat of her mouth on his skin and the shape of her lips in a tight circle but nothing else.

“Sure,” he finally muttered, his growing arousal winning out over any remaining feelings of pride, “I want to be good.”

She still didn’t move, only arched an eyebrow upwards.

“...Mummy,” His grimace turned into a choked gasp as the Doctor’s hot, wet mouth descended on his cock.

It’d been far too long since they’d done this and it was as glorious as he remembered. Her head bobbed leisurely up and down and the view itself was incredible, let alone the sensation of her sucking and licking as she went.

When she pulled off, he couldn’t help but whine, hips jerking upwards uselessly in the air.

“Behave,” the Doctor tutted. She pushed at his knees until his legs were folding over her shoulders, his heels resting on her back and then, with a yelp, he was flat on his back, hips rudely yanked forward to the edge of the sofa.

He would’ve complained about being manhandled but then, her tongue was lapping at his shaft. He dropped his head back with a pleased grunt.

“You can be a good boy,” she mumbled against his cock, “Can’t you?”

By now, the Master was well-aware of what the Doctor wanted and aroused enough to give it to her.

“Yes, Mummy,” he panted, agreeably. He was rewarded by the Doctor’s tongue swiping at the underside of his cock, against the set of nerve endings that made his balls tighten in anticipation... But then the Doctor shifted back to licking every _other_ inch of him. He was on the brink of orgasm if only she would -

“Please, Mummy,” the Master whined. He _really_ wanted to come.

The Doctor reacted exactly as he’d hoped; her tongue shifted until it was a hot, wet pressure wriggling firmly on the underside of his cock. One hand caressed his balls, the other stroked his shaft. He was so, so close.

“Mummy, Mummy, Mummy,” He was chanting deliriously now, hips rocking upwards hungrily, his toes curling until finally, he was coming with a desperate wail, his cock twitching and pulsing in the Doctor's mouth. It was probably the most intense orgasm he'd had in his entire life and the Doctor had never looked at him quite as softly as she was looking at him now.

Finally, the Master sagged backwards in a soggy heap, utterly overwhelmed. Through bleary eyes, he watched silently as the Doctor dropped a final kiss on his softening cock, before she was dabbing at him with a fresh wipe. He closed his eyes, revelling tiredly at the attention as she fussed around him. Playing along had _definitely_ been in his best interests. He could definitely spend a few more days like this before finding a new planet to conquer.

He grunted as the Doctor rolled him until he was laying sideways on the sofa. He’d have to have a word with her about the manhandling, but for now, he was willing to let it slide. 

“Press play,” he mumbled, jerking his chin at the television. They were almost in the same position they’d been all day, only this time, his head was in the Doctor's lap and her hand was running gently through his hair.

“Okay, baby,” she said and then her hand was patting softly between his legs. The sound of soft rustling was enough to tell the Master what she’d done, even before he’d opened his eyes. He sighed with tired irritation.

Of course the Doctor had had this all planned out. He should’ve known she had come to find him with an ulterior motive in mind. And then her hand was squeezing him firmly through the diaper, the pressure sending sparks of lazy, sleepy warmth through him.

He’d have to kill her later.

“Press play. Now,” he snapped. And then the Master dropped his head back into the Doctor's lap, as the sound of the giant Teletubbies sun baby's giggles washed over them both. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I REALLY want to know if you liked this. I can't be the only weirdo in this spaceship.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part 2 that ~~no-one~~ a surprising number of you asked for.
> 
> I wrote this before I had covid. I wouldn't write it now cos I never want to think about being ill again.

The Master should really have known that any instance of the Doctor showing up to help him unannounced would turn out to be a trap. After all, he did so love setting up his _own_ traps for the Doctor and she was as bad as he was, even if she didn’t like to admit it.

“What have you done?” he snarled, tugging uselessly at the elasticated sides of the diaper around his hips.

Somehow, it seemed to have fused to his skin, and while it didn’t hurt to pull on it, it also wasn’t coming off. He’d have to remember to conquer whichever planet the technology came from, when he wasn’t quite so _angry_.

“I told you,” the Doctor said, infuriatingly calm, “I’m going to help you be good again.”

“By regressing me? Really?” the Master snapped. Even his favourite throat-slitting knife wasn’t slicing through the diaper. It merely slid harmlessly over the material, as if coated in butter.

“Yup,” the Doctor replied, all smiles and sanctimony, “And there’s no point wasting your time with that. It’ll only come off when you’ve used it.”

“When I’ve what?!” The Master’s short fuse had finally been set alight and he flung the knife at the Doctor, narrowly missing left her ear by inches, “Get it off. Now.”

“I can’t. It’s bio-locked to your waste,” She picked up the knife and pocketed it with a tut, “You can have this back when you’ve learnt to be good.”

“I’ll leave,” he growled, “You can’t keep me.”

“That’s fine,” the Doctor replied placidly, “You’re not my prisoner.”

The unspoken ‘this time’ hung between them like a bomb that for once, the Master wasn’t inclined to set off. There was only so much his brains could deal with and dealing with the diaper was more pressing than raking up their history.

“I’m going,” he said at last, “Now.”

“Fine,” the Doctor shrugged.

“Fine,” he sneered back.

Her easy agreement unsettled him. It had to be another trap. After all, that was what he’d have done in her position. He’d have made the TARDIS corridors loop endlessly round on themselves or deleted the front door entirely. He would even have held a pet human hostage, if he were feeling particularly energetic, although admittedly that wasn’t the Doctor’s style.

The first two were very real possibilities however, and he’d waddled halfway up a flight up of stairs before realising exactly why the Doctor had been so blasé about him leaving; there were another two more floors until his bedroom and the Master already felt like he’d have to have a nap before he could even countenance leaving.

“Doctor!” His roar echoed round the TARDIS, “Did you make me sick on purpose?”

“Good boys don’t shout,” She popped up behind him with another tut of disapproval.

“Did you plan this?” the Master screamed, spittle flying over her face.

Despite his rage, his body felt a long way from his usual trigger-happy, vengeful self and suddenly, he wasn’t convinced the illness he’d picked up on that awful planet had been an accident. Not when the Doctor had shown up so conveniently perky so soon after.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t take your Immune Booster Shot before invading a Level 5 planet,” she said, “If you can’t take care of yourself, you should let me help you.”

“Answer the question,” he growled through gritted teeth.

“Fine,” she relented, “I didn’t actually. You know I’m not really a planner. I just took advantage of the situation as I saw it.”

The Master scowled. It was idiotic enough that it was probably true. In any case, if he hadn’t fallen ill, she’d have only popped up another time with her vortex manipulator, the little Missy pyjamas and the stupid diaper that he was _still_ wearing. It was unbearably soft against his skin and he had never hated anything as much as he hated it now.

“Fine, I’ll stay,” he muttered, “But I’m not using this thing.”

The Doctor only beamed, “Suit yourself. But like I said, it’s bio-locked so it won’t come off until you do.”

**********

If there was one thing the Master knew he excelled at, it was achieving his ends through violent means. Unfortunately, this was turning out to be one of his less successful endeavours. Neither ice picks nor blow torches nor Venusian acid were proving effective and by the 485th failed attempt to cut - and rip, burn, tear, melt and disintegrate - the diaper off himself, he could feel his short fuse sparking again.

Which led him to his next plan. First, he swapped out actual food for pills from the TARDIS food machine. It wasn’t his preferred form of nutrition as he had always been more than a little fond of a good roasted human, but he didn’t want to have to use the diaper _that_ way either.

Secondly, and most crucially, he stopped drinking liquid entirely. It seemed extreme but hadn’t he always found that a little melodrama went a long way with the Doctor? And it would only be for a few days. Just until she had no choice but to take the diaper off him. She could hardly claim to be a paragon of moral virtue if she let her best enemy die of thirst. Plus, he’d haunt her TARDIS forever and then she’d really know the meaning of guilt.

The first three days passed quickly, although the Doctor still refused to relent. By the fourth day, the cumulative effects of dehydration had started to kick in and even more annoyingly, the Master’s water strike seemed to have stalled his recovery. He still couldn’t walk more than twenty metres without wanting to sit down, but he couldn’t sit down without the soft, squishy padding of the diaper catapulting him back into anger. It was exhausting, even for someone who usually thrived on rage.

He stayed in bed on the fifth day, worn out and aching all over. His mind no longer felt sharp enough to plot or strategise so he didn’t argue when the Doctor crawled under the duvet with him, clutching “29th Century Unsolved Murders” as a peace-offering.

He made sure to curl up on her while she read aloud, burying his nose between her breasts. Over the course of their various regenerations, he’d grown accustomed to always being the smaller one, and this time, even though he delighted in being taller and broader than her for once, he knew it’d only make her feel more guilty to hold him when his body was so weak. Especially as it was all her fault. He fell asleep, lulled by her heartsbeat and more than a little fed-up.

**********

When the Master woke, it was dark and his mouth felt drier than ever. The ache in his head had multiplied tenfold and his mind was bleary with thirst and misery.

And then, there were two firm arms circling around him, his head was being lifted off the pillow and something rubbery was nudging at his lips. Unthinkingly, his mouth fell open at the soft intrusion and something deliciously wet exploded onto his tongue.

He’d been unbearably thirsty for days and now, his well-honed survival instincts were kicking in. His brains didn’t even question what his mouth was doing, merely basking in the sudden sweet relief of mouthfuls of warm milk, laced with ginger and a dash of honey. He’d never known anything so delicious, and that included the time he’d coated a human in a black garlic marinade and barbecued it with the embers of a dying sun.

It wasn’t long before the rubber teat went floppy in his mouth and he was sucking in mouthfuls of dry air, but before he could even whine, a fresh bottle appeared and he was gulping gratefully on another mouthful of milk.

“I knew she wouldn’t let her best enemy suffer for much longer,” the Master thought to himself, drowsily, “I win.”

He had a funny feeling he was missing something but the mind-numbing thirst was still too overpowering for him to think past and soon, the second bottle was empty and a third was being pressed into his mouth.

He kept drinking, drawing long thirsty gulps. The Doctor’s arms were a warm circle around him and her breath was warm against his forehead. Her hair tickled his cheek. The only sound was his own mouth, sucking, swallowing and breathing in turn.

Finally, the Master let the teat fall out of his mouth with a satisfied grunt. With his belly full of warm milk and the trace of ginger tingling pleasantly on his tongue, a haze of lazy, contented drunkenness was washing over him.

Sighing, he nuzzled his head into the heat of the Doctor’s body. He remembered vaguely that he’d been angry at her, but that wasn’t exactly new. He was always angry with her, or at her, or about her, and then once in a while something happened, like the zing of fresh ginger buzzing through his brains, shifting his attention away from whatever they’d been fighting over and towards how tempting she was in this regeneration.

He mouthed lazily at her nipple. It was shame her t-shirt was in the way as he’d have liked it in his mouth. And then, something was being pressed against his lips again. It was soft and rubbery, like before but this time, there was no milk, only a thick layer of honey. He sucked on it idly, pacified. He was missing something, he was sure of it, but he’d have to think about it later.

He fell asleep in the Doctor’s arms, as she murmured something about good boys and rewards.

******************

This time, the Master woke up clear-headed and more than a little furious. His headache was gone and in its place was the urgent need to pee. The sight of the pacifier by his pillow only added to his rage and with a swift roll sideways, he pinned the Doctor down beneath him, startling her awake.

“You tricked me, you bitch,” he snarled,

“You sound like a human when you use words like that,” she grumbled, voice thick with sleep.

His only response was hissing into her face until she snarled back, her teeth clenched just as tightly.

“Fine,” he snapped at last, “I’ll do it right here, on you. How would you like that?”

He pressed his padded hips down into her. Pleasingly, she looked awkward and flustered, exactly as he’d intended.

“Must you always be so dramatic?” she muttered.

“Yes. You wanted this, you’re going to get it,” He was grinning wickedly now, all teeth. Her discomfort was thrilling even though it did nothing to calm his anger.

But to his surprise, the Doctor went limp beneath him, “Fine.”

“Fine?” he echoed, gaping down at her. It had to be another trap.

She nodded, “You’re right, I got you into this and I wasn’t lying. I really can’t get it off unless you use it. So go on.”

The Master stared at her for a long moment and then, feeling another increasingly urgent twinge in his bladder, he ground down his pelvis down against her. The diaper flattened like a cushion squashed between them.

“Good,” he said, pressing the entirety of his weight down onto her. At least this way, she would suffer with him.

“Good,” the Doctor echoed, blinking up at him.

The fact that she still looked flustered, despite her agreement, appeased the Master a little. She’d always preferred to run away from the trouble she created so it was no surprise that she hadn’t expected to have a front row seat this time round.

And besides, it would almost make the entire experience worth it, to see her squirm in disgust as he relieved himself over her. Perhaps he’d return one day and do it again without the diaper, just to make a point. The thought of relieving himself in the future made his bladder twinge urgently in the present.

“Brace yourself,” he grinned down at the Doctor, mockingly.

This wouldn’t be as horrific as the last time he’d said those same words to her, but they’d be just as memorable. He’d make sure of it.

Breathing out slowly, the Master hovered above her, willing every muscle in his lower half to relax. The Doctor stared up at him, perfectly still beneath him, her scronched nose pressing against his own...

But nothing came. Two millennia of social conditioning was difficult to overcome, even though his bladder was now throbbing unbearably.

And then the Doctor was wrapping herself around him, her heels digging into the back of his diaper, her hands in his hair, tugging his head into the crook of her neck.

“It’s okay, I know you can do it,” she whispered, “Do it for Daddy.”

“You mean Mummy,” he snickered, amused despite himself and then, his laughter turned into a sudden choked groan of relief as a gloriously wet, blissful heat spread across his hips.

His bladder had finally begun to empty into the diaper and a quiet hiss filled the room. The Master moaned again, hands clutching loosely at the Doctor’s sides. He’d slumped into her entirely, the diaper now a swelling pressure between them.

He was only vaguely aware of the Doctor’s hands rubbing soothing circles on his back as he sighed, burying his nose into the crook of her neck. He’d wanted to disgust her but suddenly, it didn’t feel so disgusting; only warm and comforting and he could lay here all night with the bliss flooding through him.

By the time his spray has slowed into a trickle, the Master had started trembling and as the last few droplets dribbled into the soaked diaper, he started rocking his pelvis unconsciously against her, grinding his sensitive skin into the wetness between them.

He was already half-hard when she shifted, pushing her knee up between them. It couldn’t be comfortable for her and yet, she only pressed up harder into his diapered cock.

“Good boys get rewards,” the Doctor said, eyes wide.

He only grunted in response, hips rolling against her knee. Although the diaper was a restrictive pressure, trapping his cock at an awkward downward angle between his thighs, there was just enough friction to send sparks of arousal shooting through him. And since she was laying there so still and submissive for once in their lives, who was he to refuse?

The diaper felt soggy and it was rapidly cooling into a lukewarm mess around him; it wasn’t the nicest sensation but it wasn’t enough to lessen his erection. Not when the Doctor’s knee was pressing against the front of the soaked padding, a hard welcome pressure against his cock.

The Master was panting heavily now, jerking heavily against her, as she pressed wet, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses against his stubble.

“That’s it,” the Doctor murmured. Her hands had drifted down to his hips, guiding his rough, hungry movements against her knee, “Come for Mummy.”

“Doctor,” he corrected half-heartedly.

“Mummy,” she blinked up at him and then, her fingernails dug pointedly into his sides.

Suddenly aware that she could and would deny him, even when she could feel how close he was, the Master buried his nose into her neck, burning with irritation.

“Yes, Mummy,” he muttered darkly as he thrust against her with a particularly heavy shove.

“Good boy,” the Doctor crooned.

And then she was digging her knee harder upwards into the diaper, sending glorious waves of pressure against his aching cock. Between the gentle murmurs of her praise, the way her eyes were fixed so warmly on him and the sharp point of her knee in the damp padding, he only had to grind his hips downwards for a few, frantic seconds before -

With a loud grunt of pleasure tinged with relief, he jerked erratically against her, shooting ropes of hot cum into the wet, sticky mess of the diaper. It was disgusting and spectacular and so, so good.

Finally, the Master slumped onto her with a tired moan, nudging her knee aside until the diaper was a swollen cushion sandwiched between their hips. He rolled into her lazily, the aftershocks of his orgasm fizzing through him. He could almost forgive her for causing this whole mess in the first place. Especially now that the whole diaper fiasco was over.

He reached down to tug at the sides, already contemplating the long soak in the TARDIS jacuzzi he’d take, before he got back to the Level 5 planet he'd only half-conquered. But the diaper wasn’t coming off. Instead, the cold, clammy padding was drying up around his cock, the material shrinking around his hips into fresh, pillowy softness once again,

“Doctor,” he snarled, his hearts sinking, “What is happening?”

She grinned up at him, “It can absorb a thousand litres. 58th Century medical technology. Clever, isn’t it?”

“Very,” the Master hissed, “But why isn’t it working? Why isn't it coming off?”

“It _is_ working,” She looked a little guilty now, “But when I said it was bio-locked to your waste-,”

She broke off, rolling away smoothly towards the bedroom door.

“-I didn’t mean that kind of waste.”

And then she was gone, leaving the Master howling with rage behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. I wrote the filth I wanted to see... 
> 
> Any fellow weirdos in this spaceship fancy more? I reckon I could string it out a bit further. For the Master's own good, of course.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Day Three of Kinkbruary and the prompt is humiliation! So here's the poor Master suffering greatly, just because the Doctor wants him to be good,
> 
> What's that? Some of you think today is Day Seven, which is forced orgasm? You've got in the wrong TARDIS, I'm afraid. It's definitely Day Three over here... Have you never heard of time travel??

After the first time, wetting the diaper no longer seemed quite as horrific as it had before. In fact, the Master would even begrudgingly admit to himself that using it might even be _fun_ , once he realised he could turn the situation to his advantage. After all, the Doctor was the one who’d trapped him like this, so why not make her suffer alongside him?

He planned the second time meticulously, downing five glasses of zongaberry juice and loitering in the kitchen until the Doctor appeared for her regular top-up of Earth sugar.

“Good morning,” she said, cheerily, as if she didn’t suspect that she was walking directly into a trap.

The fact that the Master was wearing nothing but the diaper and the little Missy pyjama top was undoubtedly setting off some internal alarm bells, but the Doctor’s smile remained steady and wide. If only her teeth weren’t so tightly clenched, the Master might even have fallen for her false bravado. _Not_.

“Good morning,” he replied, smiling back at her amiably, as if she hadn’t run out of his bedroom at top speed only hours earlier.

Once the Master had recovered from his shock at what the Doctor had admitted - that the diaper would only come off if he _soiled_ it - he’d stormed after her, howling in rage and vowing to choke her until she cut it off him or she regenerated, whichever came first. It was only on his third furious lap that he realised that the corridor was looping in a circle between his bedroom and a bathroom he couldn’t use and that the TARDIS’s overhead lighting was flashing merrily with amusement.

After that, he’d gone back to bed, fuming murderously under the blankets until he’d realised exactly what he could do to make her pay. And it was going to begin with breakfast.

“Fancy a coffee?” the Master offered lightly.

The Doctor only shook her head. She probably thought he’d try to poison her if she accepted. The Master muffled a snicker, as he busied himself with the drinks machine. He’d added a setting that used coffee beans from the planet Barcelona, instead of the usual Earth muck, and he might as well enjoy it.

By the time his cappuccino was ready, the Doctor had made herself a bowl of chocolate cereal and strawberry milk, and she’d clearly decided that her desire for sugar outweighed the risks of potential death; she was sitting at the kitchen table, eyeing the Master carefully. He only smiled genially and sat down opposite her, ignoring the soft poof the diaper made as it flattened into the chair.

Finally, the Doctor exhaled sharply and turned down to her breakfast. The pink and brown swirls looked horrific and yet, she started shovelling the soggy cereal into her mouth with gusto. The Master repressed a shudder and waited, sipping at his coffee until at last, the Doctor’s eyes softened and her shoulders lost their tension.

“How are you feeling today?” she asked, “We could watch a film if you want?”

It was an olive branch and the Master almost ruined his plan with a giggle. She really _was_ too trusting.

“Teletubbies,” he said, nodding agreeably.

The Doctor sighed, “We literally watched every episode the other day.”

“Teletubbies,” he repeated, adding a thick layer of hypnotic suggestion over his words, for his own amusement.

She blinked, then shook her head in annoyance, “Fine. But don’t do that again. It’s rude.”

It was the perfect opening.

“Guess what else is rude,” the Master said, and then before she could reply, he leapt up onto the tabletop.

The Doctor’s face contorted into a _delightful_ look of horror as he scooted across the table on his backside with an evil grin. Suddenly, his legs were spread wide around her cereal bowl and there was a wicked gleam in his eye.

“Go on. Guess what else is rude, “ he said, leaning back onto his hands and nudging the bowl with his diapered crotch.

She only stared up at him, frowning.

“Oh, crack a smile,” he giggled, “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?”

To his surprise, the Doctor’s expression smoothed and slowly, she reached out for her spoon and started eating her cereal once again.

“Fine. I’ll tell you what’s rude. Trapping me in this monstrosity,” he said and then, he groaned with exaggerated relief as a hiss filled the space between them.

But the sight of the Master pissing into a diaper mere inches from her cereal bowl didn’t put the Doctor off her breakfast. Instead, she merely kept chewing, watching silently as the padding swelled before her eyes. When the Master finally finished, panting roughly above her, she only reached out to squeeze at his cock through the swollen diaper.

“Naughty boys don’t get rewards,” the Doctor tutted, and then, dropping her spoon into the empty bowl with a loud clang, she was gone, leaving the Master half-hard and raging behind her.

From then on, he glugged water constantly, as if he were one of her feeble pets needing a cup of tea every other minute. One of her more recent ones had been particularly pathetic, from what he remembered of his time in O’s shack, when he’d had to play humble host to the one called Running Commentary. Still, he wouldn’t be hydrating like a human for long.

The Doctor might be able to act calm and unaffected _once_ , but she didn’t have the patience he did. He’d mastered the art of the long game and he was perfectly willing to torment her until she found another way to get the diaper off him. After all, she always found another way when it came to saving her Earth girls so why not him?

He waited until the Doctor was working on the TARDIS. She’d taken off a panel of the console room floor and had crawled underneath, to do the maintenance work she’d fallen behind with in her last regeneration. It was only when she rolled onto her back, reaching upwards for a spanner, that she realised the Master was squatting over her with diaper squished into the gap above her face. Unfortunately, it was a position that meant he couldn’t see her expression as it swelled between his legs but from her icy silence, she wasn’t thrilled. Especially not when the Master was cackling above her in glee.

The fourth time he wet the diaper, he waited until she was sleeping, then woke her up by squashing the sodden padding against her nose with a giggle. She’d swatted at him sleepily and then, confusingly, tugged him under the duvet with her. It was only because it was so much fun to squelch himself against her that he stayed.

The fifth time, he hopped up onto the TARDIS console, letting his legs dangle and his diapered butt press uselessly at the bio-locked buttons while he waited for the Doctor to appear. Judging by the way she burst in, panting and frantic, the ship herself had summoned her, and it was _great_. As soon as she locked eyes with his, it was too late and she knew it; the Master let out a long dramatic sigh, basking in the sensation of his bladder emptying and the sight of the Doctor _finally_ furious.

The sixth, seventh and eighth time, he simply hopped into her lap when she was least expecting it. Once when she was in the bath, splashing water over the bathroom floor with glee, again when she was eating another disgusting Earth meal, and finally when she was using the toilet herself. But each time, the Doctor only ignored him, insisting that she couldn’t help him if he didn’t want to be good yet.

The ninth time was in the TARDIS library. Somehow they’d _both_ found themselves wanting to spend the evening reading by the fireplace. They hadn’t exactly called a truce but after a while, the Doctor had stretched out, taking up all the available space on the sofa and even sticking her head into the soft pillow of his diapered lap. The Master would have complained but it’d been a long couple of days stalking each other around the TARDIS and he simply wanted to read his book in peace.

The only problem was that the Doctor wouldn’t stop _talking_. It was irritating enough that she was reading a book about Earth philosophy, but she also kept bragging about the ones she’d met, as if he was one of her pets. Finally, fed up with her endless nattering, the Master buried his hand in her hair and twisted her head until her mouth was pressed down into the diaper.

“Sorry, love, can’t hear you,” he said mockingly and then, he fell quiet, relishing the sight of her cheeks squished into his padded groin, even as it ballooned with his piss under her.

She shut up after that, but still had the audacity to stare up at him with reproachful eyes. At first, the Master tried to ignore her but the weight of her gaze on his face was too annoying. In the end, he passed her ‘The Art of Manipulation’, snapping angrily at her to read aloud to him if she was so insistent on blathering all evening. He also made her swap positions so that he could lay in _her_ lap instead. He was still recovering from a fever, after all.

The tenth time was entirely different and it was the moment his plan fell to pieces. They’d ended up back in the TARDIS cinema room because he’d wanted to watch cartoons and the Doctor had followed, curling up next to him, for some reason he didn’t care enough to figure out. And then, since she was warm and his muscles were still achey and sore, he’d curled up alongside her.

When she started chattering her inane nonsense again, he’d had no choice but to shut her up again and biting her infuriating mouth seemed like the simplest solution. Of course, biting soon turned into kissing and half an hour later, they were _still_ kissing, if only to keep her quiet, and then the Master’s bladder twinged and he let go without a second thought.

“Shit,” he shoved the Doctor away from him in sudden horror.

“What?” She blinked in confusion as the Master staggered away, clutching at himself through the diaper.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, “I can’t-.”

He only managed to stumble a few steps away before he came to a shaky stop, hands desperately squeezing at his cock, his inner muscles clenching tightly against the urgent pressure of his bladder. If he’d known - if he’d planned it - it would have been fine, but he hadn’t even realised he needed to go. He’d only been aware of the Doctor’s lips on his, the weight of her body in his lap and somehow, between kissing her and tormenting her, his bladder had clearly gotten confused and now it wouldn’t _stop_.

Another spurt of piss escaped and the Master whined, dropping to his knees with a shudder. And then the Doctor’s hand was in his hair and she was guiding him back towards the sofa, urging his face into the space between her seated thighs. He whimpered once more, trembling with agony and then, admitting defeat, let go.

This time, instead of revelling in tormenting the Doctor, a burn of humiliation was sweeping through him, as the wet heat of urine flooded the padding between his legs. Worst still, a strange feeling was starting to bubble in his chest and he could feel his eyes stinging.

Furious, and more than a little overwhelmed, the Master bit down on her thigh, teeth sinking into her trousers, trying to muffle the hiccups he could feel jerking through his rib cage. The Doctor’s soft hands combing through his hair didn’t help. Her regression plan was stupid, everything was awful and he _hated_ that he was the one kneeling at her feet when it should’ve been _her._

He buried his face into the Doctor’s lap, sniffing miserably until the flow of piss slowed into the trickle. When it finally stopped, when his bladder was _finally_ empty, he couldn’t bring himself to move. At least, not while the diaper was so horribly warm and wet between his legs.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he ignored the hands tugging at his hair and the Doctor wriggling above him. He didn’t want to look at her; he couldn’t bear to see the sympathy in her gaze. Not when she was the one who’d reduced him to this.

It was only when the bubbling in his chest had lessened that he realised he was sucking on her bare thigh. He cracked open his eyelids, reluctantly. The Doctor’s ugly trousers had disappeared and so had her knickers, and normally he’d have been interested but he was still too miserable to care.

“It’s okay,” she crooned from above, “You were really good.”

“No, I wasn’t,” he mumbled thickly, squeezing his eyes shut again.

The diaper was still unbearably heavy between his legs and his hearts felt like they were burning. He sucked harder on her thigh and then, she was guiding his mouth higher and higher.

It wasn’t the first time he touched her there - they’d seen each other a few times between that messy business on Gallifrey and this particular ‘situation’ - but it was the first time he’d done it while he wasn’t thinking about sex. Now, he was simply miserable, burning with humiliation and the awful sensation of powerlessness and somehow, sucking on the Doctor’s labia as if she were a sweet with which to occupy his mouth seemed to calm the frantic thumping in his chest.

When he was finally, _finally_ starting to feel less unsteady - and the diaper was at last starting to dry and tighten around his waist - he chanced a glance upwards at the Doctor. Her legs had curled upwards, calves gently resting on his shoulders and she was gazing down at him with soft eyes.

“You’re being such a good boy,” she murmured.

Normally he’d have been angry at that but he’d been angry for the last three days and now, he only felt wobbly. He sucked harder, letting his teeth drag roughly over her sensitive flesh.

Her praise made him tingle strangely. He felt like he was Missy again, waiting for the Doctor to visit her in the Vault, wishing ardently that he’d see how good she could be, how hard she was trying. He hated the memory, hated how hard he’d tried and yet -

“Say it again,” he mumbled.

“You’re _such_ a good boy,” she repeated, petting his hair and all of a sudden, his cheeks were burning hot between her thighs.

And she didn’t stop. Suddenly, her hips were rolling up against his mouth and the only sound he could hear over the roar of his own double heartbeat was the Doctor murmuring over and over.

“You’re such a good boy. You’re being so good for Mummy. You’re perfect,” she panted, and every word made something in him swell and sing.

Trembling, he swiped his tongue between her labia, and then, with his insides now scorching with a heat he didn't understand, he sealed his mouth over her swollen clit and sucked harder and harder until she came with a shuddering sigh.

“You’re so good,” the Doctor moaned and then, she was shifting until her leg was between his thighs, her shin firm against the diaper.

He was already hard and it didn’t take him long to finish, pressing himself against her, humping roughly and panting into her thigh until his cock jerked and he was shaking with a mixture of relief and whatever it was that was still making his hearts burn.

Afterwards, he clung to her leg, still shaking and unable to meet her gaze. He didn’t want to see how soft her eyes were or how pleased she must be that he’d given her exactly what she wanted. He simply squeezed his eyes shut, and let her tug him upwards onto the sofa until they were lying side by side.

It was all so unbearable. Sniffling miserably, he buried his face into the Doctor's chest and then, when she tugged her t-shirt upwards and pushed her breast into his mouth, he latched onto her nipple without a fight. He hated her so much, and he especially hated how much he still wanted her attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would LOVE it greatly if you left me a comment below - if you're feeling shy, you can message me anon [here](https://curiouscat.qa/maeinfin) on curiouscat. I can't be the only weirdo in this spaceship!


End file.
